


Fletcher’s Cove

by skylinesunflowers



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Bonding Exercises, Gen, Light Angst, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25274647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylinesunflowers/pseuds/skylinesunflowers
Summary: “I serve at the pleasure.” And Russell does, which is the only reason he ever agrees to go fishing with President Dalton, Bess, and the new SecDef, Charlotte Green.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Russell Jackson & Elizabeth McCord
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Fletcher’s Cove

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place soon after Craig Sterling resigns. As of now, I haven't watched farther than Season 2, so this may not be entirely canon compliant.

Fletcher’s Cove was maybe twelve miles away from the road that Kenny’s car had crashed on, all those years ago. If he had ever wanted to fish again, he wouldn’t have chosen it, simply because it was too far to take the special route, the one with an added half an hour to the destination.

Russell was wildly confused as to why an excursion of this sort was mandatory. They hadn’t welcomed Craig Sterling with a fishing trip, but rather a brisk brief in the Situation Room.

It seemed as though, when the United States was given a break from high-risk situations, even the White House wasn’t safe from the universal power of HR. When he'd gone to Carol about the trip, she'd waved him off and told him to go. That was a common occurrence, now anyways.

His driver, Pete, had all but refused to go the long way. Russell had asked under the pretense of finishing up some paperwork, so his reasoning was completely hidden. Obviously, it hadn’t worked.

Leaning against the leather seat, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was due for a migraine, apparently. Carol insisted that he take some time off work, but with the current situation, it wasn’t possible.

They pulled up in twelve minutes, Russell's headache significantly worsening, but he managed a smile and a handshake for the SecDef, who had apparently shown up even earlier than him.

"Carla," he said, reaching out to shake her hand. Metal bangles covered both her wrists, different from the understated sapphire necklace she wore to work.

Russell had taken to piggybacking off the President’s nicknames for his staff. After all, Elizabeth and Charlotte were inconvenient in comparison to Carla and Bess.

Charlotte shook his hand and rested her hands on her hips. After a week of seeing her in nothing but tight buns and pencil skirts, she seemed out of place in a thick, gray sweatshirt and jeans.

“Elizabeth sent word that she’d be late. Something about the dishwasher and Henry. I couldn’t grasp what she was saying through the argument going on in the background.”

“That’s Bess for you. She’s a family girl.”

“Well, I wish I was,” Carla said, and looked out into the distance. “I’ve never been fishing, have you?”

Russell didn’t respond, and Carla didn’t look at all surprised. Instead, he stared down at his phone, looking for a distraction. His heart rate was picking up.

Family man, him? Maybe in another life, where he hadn’t worked for a career like this. This was the big leagues, that he’d wanted to get into since he caught his first election on television. He wouldn’t give it all up, not when he’d worked so hard.

“Oh, look, there’s Secretary McCord.”

Russell turned to see Bess, climbing out of her SUV. She had traded in her government employee garb for a flannel button-up and jeans. “Bess.”

“Hi, Russell. Sorry, Carla, the call dropped. The kids were … upset, to say the least.”

“Upset about _what_?” Russell asked, because he knew that Charlotte wouldn’t.

“The dishwasher conked out at the last minute.”

Carla shot him a grateful look when Elizabeth turned to look out at the bay. “Beautiful day to fish, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Carla replied. “I don’t fish.”

Bess shot him a meaningful look and turned away. He was grateful, to say the least. She’d lobbied hard against fishing, but, in the end, to no avail.

“Elizabeth, how’re your girls? Stevie and Alison, right? I remember you told me that Alison was writing for her school newspaper.”

Look at that. The new SecDef was squeamish about silence _and_ fish guts.

“She does, yes. A fashion column. Obviously for the weekends; her school has a strict uniform policy.”

“Russell, do you have kids?”

“I do,” Russell said. “A boy and a girl. Franklin got married about two years ago; he’s a lawyer in Minnesota. Anne’s in Virginia, and she works in the hospital.”

He didn’t mention that he hadn’t spoken to his son in three years, or the fact that his marriage was falling apart, or that his heart was pounding harder as the minutes grew closer to President Dalton’s ETA.

“Russell, do you need to sit down?”

Carla was looking at him strangely, as if he’d turned blue. He gave her a sharp look, but she remained undeterred. Perseverance, he guessed, was a valuable trait in a retired military colonel.

“No, I’m fine.” His voice was shaking. Why was his voice shaking?

Now the SecDef had caught Bess’s attention, and she looked, if possible, even more concerned. “You don’t look well.”

Russell’s breath hitched in his throat. “I’m - I’m fine, Bess.”

She came to stand by Carla, who said something beyond his range of hearing. He was surrounded by water, and he needed it to stop, and he needed to get out of here, and he needed … he needed …

“He shouldn’t be that color,” Carla said, and Bess came forward to lay a hand on his arm.

He felt unbalanced, an impossible amount of weight on each leg, and he felt as if he was going to throw up, throw up or die. Maybe his time had come, maybe he was going to have a heart attack, maybe - maybe - maybe …

Bess took his arm gently, guiding him to a bench he hadn’t noticed. “Breathe.” Her hand was gentle on his back, rubbing soothing circles that didn’t help.

“I don’t - Bess, I …” He felt like he was choking on thin air, and he gasped, but there wasn’t enough oxygen.

Her mouth was set in a grim line, and she raised her free hand and beckoned to Carla. Wide-eyed, the new SecDef hung on to her every word. “I’m going to handle this. Can you see if you can get me some water? And keep this quiet. Just tell them I’m thirsty, or something.”

She nodded and disappeared. Russell took a painful breath, and his stomach roiled. He’d lived, he was here instead of his brother, his role model, the only male figure in his life since his father left, and - and - and - and he’d just … he’d let him die and he was dying, he had to be dying, everything hurt and he couldn’t breathe, and -

“Here’s some water,” Elizabeth said, rubbing his shoulders.

Bless her, she was trying, but she should’ve known, she should’ve known that the last place Kenny went was the water, and that he was dead and that Russell wasn’t, and his chest was tightening, and maybe this was a heart attack, only he knew better than that, that this was because of the damn bay and the bonding, that he couldn’t breathe because of his brother, that he couldn’t breathe at all, and it was all his -

Bess’s hand pushed gently, insistently, until he bent at the waist, his head between his legs. She kept up her gentle rubbing, and he heard the sound of Carla sitting down on his left, and Bess putting the water bottle down by her side.

“What set him off?” Carla asked Bess. He tried to focus on their voices, to breathe past the blur of lights and sounds, the blur of his _brother_.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Bess said, and bless her for trying to keep it quiet. They were hidden behind a tall bush, keeping them just a hair out of her security agents’ view.

He could feel himself starting to come back, and the nausea beginning to dissipate. Tears he hadn’t known he was crying dripped down Russell’s face. No wonder the SecDef was so concerned. Seeing the stoic White House Chief of Staff before her was probably very jarring.

“Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked gently, patting his back.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice tight and clipped. A little hoarse, too.

She didn’t argue, and he knew that was big for her. Not trusting himself to sit up yet, he took a deep breath and pressed his eyes shut.

“POTUS is due in ten minutes,” Carla said softly. “If you need any more time, I can head him off.”

“I think I’ll need to lie down,” Russell said.

Bess patted his back gently. “Carla, could you ask Mike to lay something out for Russell in his car?”

She stood up and walked off at a sharp clip. When she was gone, Elizabeth turned all her attention on to Russell. “Maybe if I pushed harder, or I did something _more_ ...”

“Don’t, Bess.” He held his hand out to stop her. “Please, don’t. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Russell, do you -”

“No, Elizabeth, I don’t want to talk,” he said bluntly. “It was a … one-off, that’s all.”

“I think you should go. We’re not talking shop, anyways, and you won’t miss anything.”

“Thanks, Bess, but I think a hotel for one night will do it.” Russell sat up, adjusting his glasses. “I’ll catch you tomorrow, after fishing.”

“I’ll tell Conrad you aren’t well,” she promised, and laid a hand on his arm. “Please, go rest.”

Russell didn’t thank her, though he doubted the evidence wasn’t plastered across his face. Instead, he took a deep, shuddering breath and passed the bushes to where his car waited for him.

Mike asked him if he was all right, and it was all he could do to nod. He directed him to a small hotel within an half-hour drive, and practically collapsed in the back seat. He’d forgotten how sore ordeals like these left him.

Russell wondered, randomly, if he’d miss out on learning about the SecDef. Or if she’d want to learn more about him. He gave a wry smile to the ceiling. Carla Green had probably learned all she’d ever wanted to about the White House Chief of Staff.


End file.
